


Growing Pains

by MissAppropriation



Series: Time War Team [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Emotional, Family, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Honest Conversations, Mother-Son Relationship, POV The Master (Doctor Who), Parent-Child Relationship, Saturday Morning Cartoons, Time War (Doctor Who), Time War Team, Tiny Master
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAppropriation/pseuds/MissAppropriation
Summary: The Master finds that being a child has its drawbacks as he and the Doctor adjust to their new dynamic. Characters: Tiny Master, War Doctor, the TARDIS. Gen, friendship.





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Followup to _Home_ , second of Time War Team series. Enjoy. :) <3 <3

**Growing Pains**

 

The Master stomped into the TARDIS, closely followed by the Doctor.

Not that he was calling himself the Doctor these days. No, he was the _War Doctor_ now, whatever that meant. The Oncoming Storm, the Butcher of Skull Moon... A Scholar of War.

It was nonsense when translated into English.

Or maybe it was just nonsense in any language.

To the Master, he would always just be the Doctor. He wasn't about to play into his friend's sick little fugue state fantasy.

As if he'd never killed a Dalek before?

As if picking up a gun somehow made him a different person?

_Absurd._

Sometimes the Master was certain he knew his friend's depths better than the Doctor knew himself. The Doctor had spent so many centuries as an idealist, a man trying to make fairy tales come true for the rest of Universe.

But none of this was new. This had always been a part of him, the part he had denied, the part he had chosen to suppress.

This was the Doctor as a realist. As an _adult._

It was strange, certainly. And the Master couldn't help but be concerned about the aftermath of all of this for his friend should he, or anyone, manage to survive the Time War. But for now, it was good that the Doctor was focusing on the present, good that he was able to face the horrors from a practical perspective.

Because the previous Doctors might have broken under the pressure.

The Master didn't like to think about that, was glad he'd never have to see it.

The Doctor had gotten to choose his regeneration, courtesy of some highly advanced Time Lord science. He had a persona tailor-made for the War.

Now if only the Master had been so lucky himself...

Because the current Doctor was an adult: more so than he had ever been, perhaps.

But the Master was a _child._ Not metaphorically. Physically. _Literally._

The Time Lords had elected to resurrect him from the dead in the form of a six-year-old.

And this is where it got complicated... Because at first the Master had hoped that his adult consciousness would be largely unaffected by his new physical form.

But he really should have known better.

Because as a Time Lord, he _knew_ that a new body absolutely _did_ affect how your personality manifested.

Being a child hadn't just make him physically weak. It affected his thought processes, his psychology, his emotions...

And he _hated_ it.

The Doctor followed, calling after him as the Master climbed onto the couch-like seat the Doctor had installed in the Console room. He crossed his arms, kicking his feet violently, stewing. A small, seething bundle of rage.

The Doctor came to stand in front of him, saying something. The Master was too angry to even discern the words.

The Doctor knelt down to his friend's eye level, put a hand on his shoulder. The Master met his gaze, knowing there were tears of frustration in his eyes. That made him even angrier.

He was _the Master._ He was _better_ than this.

Or he used to be, anyway...

"Leave me alone," he growled threateningly.

"What happened?" the Doctor asked. His tone was patient, kind.

" _Nothing,"_ the Master spat out.

"We have to talk about it," the Doctor told him gently.

The Master pulled his feet up onto the chair, defensively, thinking back.

He honestly wasn't sure what had happened...

One minute they had been on the battlefield, destroying Daleks. It was just a skirmish really... The Doctor hadn't been thrilled about taking his now-tiny friend out into the War but the High Council had made it clear that he didn't have much of a choice.

The Master had wanted to go, eager to join the fight. That's why he was here after all, wasn't it? And despite the Doctor's obvious trepidation, the Master hadn't been worried.

Everything had been going just fine.

And then a Dalek had swooped down towards him, out of nowhere... And he had just _frozen._

The Doctor had picked him up and dived out of the way, killing the Dalek with a single shot.

The Master had been _useless._

Weak.

_Pathetic._

He glared venomously at the Doctor, as if this was all somehow his fault. "I _hate_ being little. I _hate it._ "

The Doctor frowned, blinking as if in the face of a hurricane. But he didn't back away. He came in just a bit closer, putting his hand to the side of his friend's face. "I know you do."

The Master shook his head, meeting the Doctor's persistently sympathetic gaze. He was ashamed of his weakness, of his inability to hide his emotions the way he could as an adult. But the Doctor's presence grounded him, pulled him out of the frenzy of emotion. The rage subsided a little, leaving the truth in its wake.

"I was... Scared," the Master muttered.

The Doctor smiled at him sadly. "It's alright to be scared," he told his friend.

"No," the Master contradicted him. "It's _not._ _None_ of this is ok." A tear fell on his cheek and he swiped it away impatiently. "I couldn't even _move._ "

"Well, then it's a good thing we were both there," the Doctor pointed out.

The Master shook his head, raised his eyes to the ceiling angrily, trying to blink away the tears. "I don't want you taking care of me."

"You used to take care of me, remember?" the Doctor reminded him. "Maybe now I get to return the favor."

"I don't need a babysitter. I'm not a _child,"_ the Master glared.

The Doctor looked at him steadily and told him the truth. "Well, right now, you sort of are." The Master sent him a look of pure murder. "Oh, I know you're not happy about it, I know you didn't ask for this, but... There's no reason you should have to deal with it alone. We're a team. You and me. Remember?"

The Master snorted. "Some team. Not sure if you noticed, Doctor, but I don't seem to be able to contribute much in my current state."

The Doctor begged to differ. "I thought you did pretty well out there... I didn't see a lot of other children fighting the Daleks. How many did you kill?"

The Master stared at him reproachfully. "Don't patronize me, Doctor."

The Doctor smiled a knowing smile at his old friend. "How many, though?"

The Master shrugged, the shadow of a smug smile forming on his child's face. "Eighty-two," he said. "You?"

The Doctor grinned at him obnoxiously. "One hundred and ten. You're behind."

The Master narrowed his eyes, happy for the challenge but more than that, grateful to not be pitied. The Doctor was still observing the Rules of fair play after all these years. "We'll see who wins next time, Doctor," he vowed with a smirk.

"Well...." The Doctor sat down next to his friend, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. "My guess? It won't be the Daleks."

The Master chuckled, because it was _true._ The Daleks didn't stand a chance... All those times he and the Doctor had fought against each other, the irony was that _together_ they were practically unstoppable.

The Master sighed nostalgically, remembering the good old days. "I used to be _amazing..._ Do you remember how amazing I was, Doctor?"

"You're still pretty amazing," the Doctor admitted.

The Master shook his head ruefully, unconvinced. "I guess..."

"So what do you want to do now, hmm?" the Doctor asked, looking down at his friend. "We don't have to go back just yet."

The Master just shrugged, still annoyed at how the day had gone.

"You still like television?" the Doctor asked him with a sideways glance.

This got the Master's attention. He _did_ like television, ever since he had accidentally discovered it while locked up on Earth in the 1970s. He looked up, nodding.

"You know, I bet the TARDIS could find some cartoons for you," the Doctor said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" the Master grinned.

"Yes, I should think so..." the Doctor answered. "Hold on, I'll hook up a screen."

"I'll help!" The Master hopped down from his seat, happy to have a project.

"Come on, then." It didn't take the Doctor long to find a monitor screen somewhere in the TARDIS. They hooked it up to the Console together.

"Hmm, now how should we do this?" the Doctor wondered, fiddling with the controls.

_‘What would you like to watch, Little One?’_

_"Something... Fun. And stupid."_

The screen switched on by itself, showing four anthropomorphic green creatures in different colored masks.

The Doctor turned to look at his friend, puzzled, curious. "How did you do that?" he asked.

The Master had returned to his seat on the couch. He smiled impishly and shrugged, choosing to keep his secrets to himself for a little longer. It was always fun knowing things the Doctor didn't.

The Master pointed at the screen, already highly amused by his show. "They're _turtles,_ Doctor _._ _Ninja_ turtles! _Why?"_ He laughed, eyes glued to the screen. "That's so _stupid..._ " he said delightedly.

The Doctor just smiled and shook his head, happy that his friend was happy.

He went to work on the TARDIS Console to the sound of cartoons playing in the background.

_The End_


End file.
